


Why Me?

by Rose_of_Pollux



Series: Inktober for Writers 2018: Hurt/Comfort edition [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 01:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16171139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: Illya was just in the wrong place at the wrong time…





	Why Me?

Illya had been bound hand and foot, dragged around the countryside—not by THRUSH, shockingly enough, but by a group of bank robbers. It was a vexing case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time—accompanying Napoleon to the bank for an errand was something that the two of them did all the time.

It was just bad luck that the bank robbers had chosen that day to commit their crime—and it was also bad luck that, upon seizing as much money as they could carry, decided that they wanted to take a hostage for insurance. And it was further ill luck that they wanted to take “that weird blond guy” as their hostage.

And so, to protect the innocents still in the bank, Illya went with them without a fuss—despite his cooperation, they covered his head with a money bag and threw him into the back of a getaway car.

 _This sort of thing_ would _happen to me_ , he thought semi-furiously. He winced as he was bounced and jostled around in the back of the car. He could feel the bruises forming on his face; he certainly wasn’t going to look like a prize by the time this was over. But, with any luck, the bruises would mean that Napoleon’s retribution would be all the more satisfying to watch—it took a lot to get Napoleon Solo angry, but bringing harm upon Illya was a surefire way to succeed.

Indeed, his captors soon started complaining about a car following them, and then, a moment later, noticing that all four tires had been shot out in a blink of an eye, for even though THRUSH had been co-founded by a marksman, Napoleon, when sufficiently angered, could have a razor-sharp aim that would have sent Sebastian Moran himself running for cover, had they ever met.

The thieves complained loudly—there were no police cars following them, so how had their tires been shot out?

They then decided to use Illya as a shield to get away; they dragged him out of the car, and one of them removed the bag that was covering his head. Illya greedily drew the fresh air in for a moment.

“Shut up and just come along quietly,” one of them hissed.

Illya rolled his eyes; it was almost comical, how these four bank robbers were trying to hide behind him.

“I don’t understand how someone managed to follow us!”

“Because you took an international police agent as a hostage, you fool!” Illya finally snapped at them.

The moment of sheer, abject horror on the robbers’ faces was worth it as, one by one, they were tranquilized and dropped to the ground, leaving Illya standing, still bound.

Napoleon appeared a moment later, cutting him free and looking at him with a tender expression before turning his wrath on the fallen robbers—as Illya looked on in satisfaction.


End file.
